


Captiv8ted

by dagas isa (dagas_isa)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Bloodplay, Consent Issues, Consent Play, F/F, Master/Slave, Mind Control
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-08
Updated: 2012-01-08
Packaged: 2017-10-29 04:08:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/315634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dagas_isa/pseuds/dagas%20isa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mindfang prefers to use the subtle moves when manipulating her new lover.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Captiv8ted

The true key to mind control comes in subtlety. Any meager puppeteer can take the limbs of her lover and wrap them around her body, or make her flush just for a second or two, but such acts are hollow. They lack subtlety. Too many youthful indiscretions have proven that in matters of the red hearts, it is best to make the smallest of moves.

For the slave who kneels before me now, I choose to put my skills to work. Already, I have softened her dread towards me. Though she still fears my wrath, quite rightfully, there's just a smallest drop of curiosity to exploit. Exploit, it I shall. If my influence settles deeply enough, she'll walk the razor edge between her own will and my manipulation, which is a finer line that even she will admit.

I take off my coat, leaving nothing up top but the wrap supporting my breasts. When her eyes flicker up to watch me—her own movement—I smile and make her breath catch a tiny little bit more than it would have otherwise. I keep her gaze fixed on my body a little longer, just long enough to make her question her reluctance before I let go. She doesn't turn away.

I use my hands to tilt her head up, appreciating the way her hair twists and gnarls through my fingers. Her face is pleasing, with a strong bone-structure and an expression that reflects both her fear at this moment—that a failure to please will leave the red-hot scars around her wrists, and that a refusal to comply cannot exist meaningfully in my hold—and those little drops of curiosity—that wriggling bit of doubt that she wouldn't choose otherwise, if only the decision was hers. Perhaps it will be, in time.

Our eyes lock, and even I cannot tell how much of her gaze is from the will I've stolen, and how much is her own personal challenge to me. I take her bound hands, and replace the physical restraints with my own psychic one. I lift her left hand, and relinquish the right, leaving most of her body under her unwitting control. If she believes herself bound, it is only because she refuses to escape. I touch my lips to her knuckle. Her skin warms beneath me.

I turn the hand over and raise her palm. I used the ignorance of her blood color to taunt my royal kismesis, but in our first private liaison, curiosity wins over the excitement of not knowing with what hue I debase myself with. I roll a single die and fix the result into a slash across her palm. Drops of jade green blood bead across the wound. It's a rare shade indeed, and one that tells me her story even without my oracle to set the scene. If the highbloods knew what I desired from her, we could both end in irons. It makes what's about to happen even more thrilling.

"You're very lucky to be here in my service." It's manipulation on my part, but it's also truth. We both know the fate of her companions—for who else could this jade-green slave have been, but a member of that doomed circle?—and I am generous to those who would give themselves to me, more generous than the sea dwellers would be.

She swallows, and I see her eyes glaze over with the deep green of her unshed tears.

I extend my control further. My grip on her hand loosens, but my influence sinks in to parts she cannot control consciously—the beating of her heart and the tension of her muscles—as I bring my mouth down her to her palm. I relax her muscles, just enough to balance her own trembling. My tongue flicks out and catches the drops of rich blood she sheds. She inhales sharply, and I laugh. My slave doesn't know the control that remains to her. That reaction belongs to her exclusively. But not knowing that, she feels no shame in showing it.

I bring my head up, and using the fingers still tangled in her hair, I tilt her gaze to meet mine. I see her confusion with my regular sight as I do with my vision eightfold.

I let her hand fall and roll the die for the same fixed result. A slash opens on my palm and mirrors the one I made on her, except for the cerulean blood that seeps out. I place my hand, palm up, to her mouth. We share control of her tongue, but she's the one who brings her head forward for a taste. I merely wiggle the tip of it a couple times as a suggestion. Her eyes flutter shut, and her tongue drags along the creases of my palm.

I savor the debasement, as does she.

But soon, I grow tired of the game. I command her to bring me a chair and to finish undressing me. I do not know if she and I will fully bloom red. That is for time to tell. But I stand content knowing that her service pleases her more than she cares for it too. I grasp her mind loosely, giving her the will to move inside the bindings I've created for her, and far from struggling to escape—not that she would be allowed to fight any harder than suitable for a fun diversion—she follows along the path I've shown. Goosebumps rise on her skin, unbidden by me but perfectly welcome.

This encounter is a delicious contradiction. I know my slave performs only because she believes herself to have no choice, and she doesn't. And yet, that is why she allows herself to enjoy this. Her curiosity has fully ignited into hunger, and I no longer need to move her body like a marionette's to spur her forward. I need only to make suggestions.

The flex of her fingers and the tug of her arms forward bring my slave's hands to my thighs and rests them on the curve of my buttocks. My boots curl around her bare back, gloriously crimson against her gray skin. They push her head and breasts forward. I can feel her exhaling on my most intimate parts.

My own breath hitches, and emboldened, my slave speaks.

"Does That Please You, Lady?"

A tap of my heel on her shoulder silences her, but yes, she pleases. The curl of her tongue over her black lips is all the encouragement I need to give her to place her head between my legs, and let her tongue lap up the moisture that's gathered there. I tilt her chin slightly upwards to draw her focus to the correct spot, but that's all the interference I provide until my legs shake around her.

My pleasure taken, I sit back up and take my legs down. My control over her body becomes the iron she believes she's been under the whole time. I leave her only her face and that only so I can enjoy the widening of her eyes as she realizes how much of herself she has given over to me.

She would have turned away then and become defiant. But my grip on her is solid now, and my plans for her body no longer subtle. Her legs spread, and she sits back, exposing her jade bits to me. I make her left hand curl over her breasts and stomach, while her right lowers and puts on a show for me. She is vigilant of everything I-through-her do to her body—vigilant, but literally helpless to do anything but feel.

I rub the tips of her fingers between her folds of flesh, keep her legs open, and her body on the ground, but I loosen my control again. Her actions are in my grasp, but her reactions—the way her hips lift into the motion, her moans, her shaking, shallow breaths—belong to her alone. Her gushing is completely involuntary for either of us. I laugh and drag her finger in the liquid.

She opens her eyes, and a becoming green blush graces her cheeks. I hand her a towel and solution for wiping her mess—not even I care to rush a fully-consummated encounter—and, when she's done, a blanket to wrap around her shoulders.

"Lady?" Her clipped voice calls for my attention. "Is There Anything Else I Can Do For You?"

She grows bolder, and I let her slide this time. If she has flushed leanings, let me slowly feed them, until she comes to me without even the illusion of my control to guide her.

"You may fetch my clothes and dress me."

"Yes, Lady."

Her eyes never leave me, even as she gathers the clothes strewn about. Even as she drapes the fabric over my shoulders of her own will, her fingers fuss and linger over each crease and button. I know it will only be a matter of time before she's well and truly…

Captiv8ed.  
>:::; )


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